Save But One Soul
by nameless and forgotten
Summary: A collection of little Reid/Deborah moments.
1. I

**A/N 1**: I've been writing a few little ficlets about Miss Goren and Inspector Reid because I fell in love with the ship and enjoy exploring the depth of it that isn't shown in the episodes themselves. I've written all of these mostly for my personal pleasure (and that of my darling friend), which is why they might not leave much of an impression style-wise, but they are still moments I decided to share with other people who like the combination of those two characters as much as I do :)

**A/N 2**: This first one was written when the stills for episode 6 came out and I had no idea that they were actually going to kiss in it - so the panic attack is obviously quite inaccurate, but here it is nonetheless.

* * *

When nimble fingers find their way to his tie, it isn't the panic attack that tightens its grip around his chest. His breath catches and he wills himself not to blush (she is so close to him) as she frees his neck from the constraints of his shirt buttons (close enough for their breath to mingle). For a moment, their eyes meet. His flicker down to her lips, curled slightly in a reassuring smile while the look in her eyes still speaks of worry.

It takes up all the strength he can muster to keep his hands at his side instead of testing their fit against the curve of her waist. Instead, he sucks in a breath at last, filling his lungs with the smell of lavender scented soap he has come to associate with her (his eyes begin to wander again). The moment of silence between them lingers and he can tell that his resistance is wavering (are her curls as soft as they look? he wonders briefly); then a noise reaches their ears and she backs away startled, turning away from him.

Only then, his heart remembers its steady rhythm again.


	2. II

**A/N**: A Valentines ficlet for my friend - this one is obviously written after episode 6 had aired!

* * *

After he had left the orphanage, he'd hurried home in hopes of finding Emily there - supportive, present, the way he had known her _before_ - but his hopes were quashed within a matter of surprise of seeing her dressed in bright colors again (was there a hint of the old Emily he detected? The Emily that was his?) did not last long. She had escaped his grasp, desperate as he felt it was, once more, leaving him to his own devices. Alone. The one thing he had so badly wished to avoid after…

Images of Miss Goren - Deborah - rose up in his mind, and as he took a sharp breath it almost seemed as if her smell still lingered. He had always thought himself a faithful man, a loyal husband, someone who would never stray… and yet crossing the line had been so much easier than he thought it would be. In his line of work he had seen his fair share of beautiful women but he had never been tempted. Not once did it cross his mind to step away from his place at Emily's side; but today it had felt almost natural.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, unsuccessfully trying to focus on something - anything! - else but Miss Goren's face, listening so intently as he told her his story (he had told but one soul of that day, unable to speak of it to any other person, but again, it had felt so natural to tell her) and then so much closer to his own. He could still taste the memory of the kiss on his lips and, reliving it vividly, at last gave up trying to get it out of his head. What would have happened, he wondered, had Drake not shown up at the door?

For a while, she had managed to keep herself busy after the Inspector had left. Grateful for the many chores for once, she took care of them with unusual fervor. She could not allow herself to let her mind wander, but the children kept her busy for the rest of the day. Only once they had all been fed and settled into their little cots and she found herself on her own the thoughts she had repressed for hours came flooding back into her mind. In vain she took up a book, but the letters did not want to make any sense tonight. It was wrong, she told herself. He was a married man after all and she… she had accepted her fate long ago, telling herself that the love of the children, earned through hard work and loyalty, was all she needed. She did not want feelings bubbling up inside of her, but the affection she felt for the Inspector was not to be denied.

A sigh on her lips she put aside the book and got up to check on the children. The dim light of the candle illuminated each of their faces for a brief while. She felt her emotions settle again, slowly, and, telling herself that she was a sensible woman after all, she made another attempt to lock him out of her thoughts. Only once she had found her way into her own bed, cold and empty, she could not help but remember his hot breath on her cheek, his hands on her waist, pulling her body close to his, and his lips finding their way to her own…


	3. III

**A/N**: Set after episode 8, a little make up fic :)

* * *

Night had already fallen, but Deborah Goren was still at work. She never complained about all the chores that fell on her. In fact, she was generally rather grateful to be able to help and make a difference in the lives of so many otherwise helpless children, but every now and again she did long for an hour or two to herself - no one tucking at her skirt, no dishes to be washed, no laundry to be folded… It had been so long since she had read a book, a novel, just for herself. Her busy hands stilled for a moment and a sigh passed her lips. No, no time to linger on her own wishes, she told herself, returning to work. She started humming a tune, half Russian lullaby, half made up in her own mind as she continued working through the night. A little while had passed and her tune had changed once or twice already, when she heard a noise. Quieting for a moment, her ears strained to make out the source of it before she decided it must have been the wood creaking. The house was old and she knew its sounds well enough, but recent events had made her more suspicious than usual. Thinking back on them, she smiled faintly. Nevermind the bruises, she thought quietly to herself; she was glad for the change in her routines…

Just as her thoughts began to wander to the particular source of these events, hands settled on her waist. Stiffening, Deborah held her breath, not daring to move. For a moment, she closed her eyes and nearly sent out a silent prayer (even though she had not believed in any sort of benevolent God in a long time), but she was quickly reassured by the familiarity of the big hand sneaking around to her front, spreading out against her corset and pressing her closer. She let out a breath of relief as she felt Edmund bend against her, pressing his cheek against her neck. He himself took a deep breath before whispering an apology in her ear and placing hungry kisses along the line of her collarbone.

"Edmund…" his name passed Deborah's lips as she felt her knees go weak (but his grip was strong and supported her gladly). A deep hum was all the reply she received - neither question nor answer to her unspoken query - before she willingly let her body get turned around to face her silent lover. However, even searching his startlingly blue eyes she did not find an explanation for his unexpected presence. Her lips parted to speak, but were quickly silenced by a hot kiss while his fingers busied themselves with the multitude of buttons and strings that kept her dress wrapped tightly around her body.

Only later, naked limbs tangled in her stark white sheets, he turned to her at last: "I have taken you for granted," he admitted, guilt audible in his words. Deborah merely smiled and stroked the stubble on his cheek with affection. It did not seem her place to speak and so she remained silent as her eyes wandered over the long lines of his body. His mind, she knew, was more like that of a lost little boy's than a grown man's and she had long ago admitted to herself that this made him all the more appealing. He did not need to say things out loud which she already knew (giving was in her nature and she had gladly given herself to him) but she still enjoyed hearing his words spoken so full of sincerity.

"Forgive me," he whispered at last. He leaned in again to cover her body with kisses, stopping only to utter words of appreciation against her skin:

"I do not know where I would be without you."


	4. IV

**A/N:** (Anachronistically) set somewhere near the end of episode 7 (I think), presumably after Hobbs' death, this is how I imagine their first night together was spent.

* * *

The knocks on the door startled her, sending the needle with which she was darning one of the many small woolen socks that were piled up next to her straight through her skin. Yelping softly, she dropped sock and needle on the table next to her and made her way to the door with her thumb in her mouth. It was late and Deborah Goren could not imagine who would come to the orphanage at this hour. Suspicion made her hesitate, but as the knocks were repeated, she decided that anyone meaning her or the children any harm would hardly bother to be so polite.

She was surprised to recognize the familar tall physique of the Inspector as she opened the door and even though her logic had already ruled out the possibility of some evil-doer waiting on her threshold, she still felt relief rushing through her veins.

"Inspector...?" she said, uniting greeting and question in just one word while she moved aside to let him in. He stepped inside, leaving only the inky black of the night behind, and took off his hat. Clutching it almost nervously, he gave her a shaky smile. "Please, call me Edmund," he told her. "Aren't we past the stage of formalities by now?"

"Edmund then," testing the sound of his given name with a smile on her lips, she motioned him to follow her to the small room she had just left. Stacked with laundry and other chores, it was not a place she usually received guests in, but she always enjoyed the feeling of safety it gave her late at night. They would not disturb the children with the sound of their voices from here and it was not as personal as her private room would have been.

"Do sit down," were her words of encouragement when she noticed the awkwardness of his posture and the downcast eyes.

"I'm sorry, I should not have come - I'm disturbing your evening."

"There is no need to apologize, I always enjoy your company." Deborah felt the hints of a blush rising in her cheeks as she heard her own admission, but she quickly turned away from him in order to get another chair for herself, as well as the bottle of Vodka they had shared before. Placing this in front of him, his eyes flickered up to find hers. So many words were left unspoken between them, and they both were well aware of them; but there was no need to discuss the kiss - Deborah was ready to accept it as whatever he wanted it to be. Silence fell between them as she filled their glasses and slowly slid one of them across the table into Edmund's reach. There were deep shadows under his eyes that made her heart lurch a little. He looked lost; deeply unhappy and lost.

"You look tired," she told him, filling the empty space between them with words. "Has work been keeping you up?" As she probed carefully, her eyes met with his again. He nodded.

"Yes. I'm ..." A sigh replaced the sentence that might have been. Instead of talking, he swallowed the contents of his glass eagerly. As his glass hit the wooden table, Deborah reached out and touched his hand. Feeling her own small, cold fingers against his heated skin was a curious sensation; usually, she only felt the tiny fingers of her charges on her palm, but next to his hand her own looked rather childlike. She pushed the thoughts aside and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"Let's get you to bed." Speaking as if she were talking to one of her orphans, the tone of her voice admitted no objection. Her confidence only began to falter as his eyes met her in question. Bed, of course, was in this context a term left open to interpretation, but she quickly added "Sleep. You do look like you need it." Having the matter thus clarified, Reid showed himself a lot more willing to be led by her, hands still clasped together, into the direction of her private chamber.

An air of consent had settled over them, and they remained silent while Deborah closed the door behind her, before self-consciously turning to face the wall as she worked the buttons of her dress. She was careful not to turn around, but her heart still beat faster as she listened to the sounds of rustling fabric that filled the space. Clad only in her corset and shift, she drew in a deep breath, feeling her chest rising. The sounds had stilled and her skin tingled. Was he watching her or had he averted his eyes? she wondered before closing her own and unhooking the corset at last. Placing it next to her dress, she unnecessarily smoothed out the white fabric of her undergarments before turning around at last.

He had taken a seat on the edge of her bed, eyes fixed to the wooden floor. As he looked up, she gave him a shaky smile and motioned him to lie down before she slid under the sheets next to him. Awkwardly lying on her back she dared not to breathe until she felt his arm wrap around her middle, holding her close. His head found a place on her shoulder and just like that any sense of discomfort left her. While he quickly fell into a deep slumber, Deborah was awake for quite some time, stroking his hair in an almost machanical motion as she tried to make sense of everything that had happened between them.

.

The next night she had almost anticipated his knock - although his greeting still came as a surprise: The moment she had opened the door, he had pulled her into a close embrace. Before she even had time to think, his mouth was on hers, kissing her with fierce passion; this time, there was no question about their purpose as they stumblingly made their way into her room.


	5. V

**A/N**: Since I promised the dear Miss Nyte Quill an update for an update, here is IV from Reid's perspective. Which for some reason hasn't turned out as I wanted it to, but alas, here it is anyway.

* * *

Wandering through a sleeping London, Edmund Reid scarcely knew where he was going; but even though he thought he was making random turns and walking through streets and alleys with no particular destination in mind, it appeared his feet knew more than him. After walking for a while (he had lost all sense of time and not seen the face of a clock since before he had started his aimless stroll), he was quite astonished to find himself facing the familiar building of Miss Goren's Jewish orphanage. He stood, wondering how he had gotten there and contemplated his next step.

Surely she had already gone to sleep at this hour? It seemed most definitely too late for him to make an unannounced visit, but then again he was already there. Without daring to admit it to himself, he longed for company tonight; particularly Miss Goren's. The sound of her voice alone would soothe his unsettled nerves and he would not stay for more than half an hour...

His mind thus made up, he crossed the last distance to her door and knocked. If she was already asleep, so he thought, she would not hear the tap, and he was still deciding whether he wished for her to answer or not when the door was cracked open. At the sight of her face, betraying her surprise, Edmund felt relieved, although he still could not tell if he had made the right decision. Even as she led him to the only lit room of the house, he felt uneasy. He was disturbing her, interrupting her precious time alone... He had almost made up his mind to take his leave again when she encouraged him to stay.

Sitting down, he felt a multitude of words and sentences bubbling inside him, longing to be let out. There was so much he longed to talk about - longed to tell her, to share with her, knowing that she would gladly lend her ear to listen; yet nothing made it past his lips and so he was left hoping that his silence was not misinterpreted. Even as she asked tentative questions he felt himself unable to answer. Overcome by the intensity of the emotions he had kept under lock until now, as well as a leaden tiredness falling over him, his tongue was tied. But there was nothing he needed to say out loud. Their communication worked in miraculous ways and she knew just what to say and do. He need not speak to her about the tragedy that had befallen the station, or the guilt he felt. It seemed she read it all in the features of his face and intuitively knew how to behave.

A pleasant shiver ran through him as her hand touched his. His fingers twitched to return the reassuring gesture, but the moment was brief. The suggestion that followed surprised him, even with her clarification. It was just what he needed, though he had not been able to identify the longing himself. He was amazed at the courage she showed, suggesting bed to him in such a manner, but was quick to follow her in order to quell any doubts or regrets she might develop.

Having reached the bedroom - sparsely furnished and dimly lit by the single candle she was carrying - she turned away from him and began to undress tentatively. Her timidity touched him as he followed her lead and slipped out of his shoes and draped his suit over a nearby chair. His clothes thus shed he found himself with nothing left to do and his eyes began to wander... Her dress discarded, he could not help but notice the lines of her body, still pulled together tightly by the corset she was wearing and his heart began to beat faster. Some curls had escaped her tight bun in the process of getting undressed and were now resting softly against her skin, creating a stark contrast of black against the white of her shoulder. His fingers dug into his cotton-clad thighs, aching to reach out for her, just as his legs were itching to cross the distance between them, but he remembered his decency and fixed his eyes firmly to the ground as she went to work on the hooks of her corset.

He had known attraction before, of course, but the burning in his chest was an unfamiliar sensation. She seemed to emanate an almost magnetic pull, drawing him irresistibly closer into her sphere with every meeting. There was something so special and unique about her that he had never recognized in other women before...

As she turned to join him in bed, his contemplations came to a halt. The flickering candlelight had turned her into an almost ghostly presence before his eyes and he was surprised to find her made out of flesh and blood after all when he took a chance and drew himself closer to her. Breathing in the scent of her untamed locks, and listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, he was soon overwhelmed by the nearly forgotten comfort of another body beside him as he finally let himself be overcome by sleep.


	6. VI

**A/N**: This really wasn't supposed to become something with regular updates, but since I made a deal to get an update for an update I guess I have no choice but to comply (even if I'll have to start rationing ideas a little!)  
Here's another missing scene, but set during 1x02 - In My Protection.

**A/N 2**: If you're reading, Guest who left me such lovely encouraging words - I hope you enjoy the rest of the show! Chapter 3 is set right after the finale, so if you're dissatisfied with their "break up" maybe you'll want to check that one out (as well as Nyte Quill's lovely fics of course).

* * *

He had come to thank her, the day after the attack on the orphanage; blue eyes clouded with worry and sadness as they wandered over the bruise that covered a good deal of her face. She had kept on a brave expression, a stoic smile that was too unchanging to be real. His hand had reached out, almost, as it seemed, on its own account, reached out to touch her injuries, but his fingers curled before they met her skin and returned to grip his bowler hat so much more tightly than necessary.

The apology he offered for the harm she and her orphanage had come to was sincere, even though his voice was cracking and his posture timid. Was it the shock, still sitting in his bones? she wondered (it was certainly still sitting in hers, but she was well practiced in keeping signs of insecurity hidden from sight). She, too, felt the urge to reach out and touch him (the cut above his eyebrow was still angry and red, but it was clear it had been taken care of) - comfort him as well as herself; but even though they had lived through so much together in such a small period of time, they were still strangers. The ordeal they had gone through was an experience she did not wish to see repeated; too much of it had reminded her of earlier days in her life and the brutality she had experienced in Russia. The children - they would recover quickly. Warm milk with honey had calmed their young minds and the excitement had tired most of them rather than woken them up. She herself had been all too glad not to be alone that night, and had fallen asleep curled up in one of the girls' cots. Holding the small body close, it had been easy to tell herself it was for the child in her arms and not her own nerves that she chose discomfort over her own, empty bed.

Had he slept in the arms of his wife? she asked herself, eyes wandering over the tall form of the Inspector. Even though she had no reason to doubt the happiness of his marriage, the tension in his shoulders and the sadness in his startlingly blue eyes spoke volumes to her.

"I owe you my life."

His words, spoken more clearly than any other part of the conversation they had been having, startled her. She had saved his life, he explained, and done so by putting her own at risk, coming to harm in the process. He would be in her debt forever. She laughed and waved him off, saying it was nothing - then doing her best not to wince as she felt pain stab through her from the bruise around her eye. Nothing, really, she told him yet again. She would have done it for anyone. Her words of assurance had barely passed her lips when she suddenly wondered if they were the truth.

_Would she really have risked so much to save just any man?_


	7. VII

**A/N**: A short one this time - set during episode 8. You can blame Nyte Quill's fic and our conversations for this. It turned out a bit more weepy and emotional than what's probably appropriate for Edward but I decided not to care.

* * *

Edmund's heart was heavy as he got dressed; legs filled with lead when he got up from the edge of her bed and his arms did not want to lift, to open the wooden door. How could he leave her like this (he daren't turn around to catch a last glimpse of her, knowing it would surely make him stay if he saw her wrapped up in the white sheet, her dark curls resting on her pale shoulders...), he wondered, feeling his movements slow down even more. _I'm sorry,_ he wanted to say; _I need you_, his mind screamed; _I love you_, his heart whispered as the door clicked shut behind him.

_Love_.

The word was so big, so meaningful, and yet he could not doubt his heart. But how could he love a woman when he was married to another? Guilt crept into his mind again, adding to the torment of his lost little girl. He was betraying them both; both women deserved better than to be loved by him, who could give neither of them the things they deserved the most.

He reached home while the night was still inky and black. In the light of a single candle, he washed his face and shaved his beard, wishing at the same time the water would clean him of the sins he had committed against the women in his life. In the end, he let them all down; sweet, darling Matilda lost in the raging waters without her father's protection; Emily left alone in her grief because he could not part with the hope that his daughter was still alive; and now Deborah, who had taken it upon herself to soothe his pain, who had succeeded in lightening the heavy load on his shoulders and who was now left alone in her room, alone in her bed, after she had given him everything.

As dawn approached at last and the sky changed from black into grey until at last it was streaked with red, he was still sitting in his living room, his position unchanged since he had first sat down, when his wife appeared.


	8. VIII

**A/N: **Dear Guest, I'm sorry I've caused you pain, but you see - there's practically no way to make these two happy, save for some small moments. And sadly, this is yet another depressing one, but I shall try to work on something a bit more positive in the future. Until then - a moment or two from 1x04.

* * *

When she regains consciousness, she doesn't know how much time has passed since she was assaulted. Her head hurts terribly; her ears are ringing, and the cold has seeped from the stone floor into her bones, making her shiver as she slowly tries to get up. Sitting up, she takes a moment to cling to her knees, to let out a sob - not because she's in pain, but rather because they're gone. The innocent little children, taken from under her protection. She covers her face, winces when her fingers touch the bruise that is forming around her eye; then she gets up, dizzy still, keeping a hand on the wall to steady herself.

Shaky steps bring her to the room where the bigger boys sleep. She reaches out to touch the eldest gingerly, shaking him awake with soft whispers, telling him to get dressed and run to the police station. Inspector Reid will have to be told, and again she hangs her head in shame, feeling terrible for having disappointed him. He had put her in charge of the children's safety and she had miserably failed him; a thought which pained her infinitely more than the injury she had sustained. Her fingers are still shaking when she sits down to wait for the police; shaking so much that she can barely fill her glass, spilling drops left and right. When the liquor passes her lips, the warmth she feels gives her back some strength. The dim grey light of the early morning hours is seeping through the windows already, and once again she wonders how much time she has spent blacked out; how much time whoever took the children has already had and how far he might have taken them already. Feeling a heavy lump form in the pit of her stomach, she quickly fills her glass again, taking a desperate gulp. How could she have let this happen?

A little out of balance still, she makes her way towards the laundry room, and goes back to work, trying to behave as if nothing has happened. Ironing and folding the white linens has a calming effect, and her hands stop shaking just before Inspector Reid appears in the door. Her motions halt, but she keeps her eyes focused on her work until he calls her name. Then, reluctantly, she lets him see her face. Ashamed about the bruises, ashamed that she has been unable to protect the children, it's hard to look him in the eye. Words pass between them, but she lets out the breath she's been holding only when he leaves.

.

When he spots the dark bruises marring her face, his heart skips a beat. He is well aware that they are his fault; he has put her in danger, has put her directly into harm's way, even. Yet again he has risked the life of someone dear to him and the sight of her cuts him deep. Words of apology spill over his lips and he curls his fingers more tightly around the rim of his hat; they are itching to reach out, to reach for her pain and take it from her. It would be highly inappropriate, he knows, and so he simply accepts her plea, prepared to let his anger and guilt fuel his work.

_"Find the children; please, Inspector."_


	9. IX

**A/N:** We all know how 1x06 is mostly about Reid showing his trust in Deborah, and of course the kiss, but I decided to pick out a different scene for now because I rather adore their interaction at the police station (as well as their little conversation on the street later on).

I don't know how much more I can write with the material I've got - I feel like I've been over every scene they have by now haha but I certainly won't hesitate to write more if anything comes to mind. Of course if there's a scene you'd like to see (whether real or just wishful thinking) do let me know & I'll see what I can do about it!

* * *

She had come to the police station with a heavy heart - the loss of a dear friend still piercing her chest, making it hard to breathe at times, but it also seemed to sink every time she thought of Inspector Reid. It had been her own suggestion to speak with him, not Isaac's. He had been surprised to hear of her connections to the police. She herself was still amazed at how easily she had started to trust the Inspector, trust him and value him. It had not taken her more than a handful of meetings to see that he was a honest man - nothing like the police she and Isaac both had known in Russia. Upon his inquiry she had attempted to explain the good hearted nature of the blue eyed detective; but even though her friend had always valued her opinions, he had remained wary at the thought of the investigator; of course it came as no surprise that Isaac chose not to trust someone who thought his late brother a criminal and so she had come on her own.

Pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, then clasping her hands together nervously, she waited for him to arrive. On her own she felt rather insecure and most certainly out of place at the police station, surrounded by busy coppers and a whole set of dubious characters, but she straightened her shoulders and waited. When he finally arrived, she could have leapt straight into his arms; instead, of course, she remained dignified. Taking a seat, she suddenly found it hard to speak - words leaving her lips only hesitantly. She had ignored his offer of a glass of water, attempting to talk frankly about her dead friend.

_"His name is Joshua. I come on behalf of his brother to request you release his remains - swift burial is our custom, Inspector."_

It came as no surprise to her that he would ask her questions, but answering them she felt a wave of emotion rush over her. Memories surfaced - images of a good friend and steady companion in her times of hardship - making it difficult to keep her composure. The question about Joshua's politics finally made her crack: her voice broke and tears welled up as she tried to defend the honor of a man she had esteemed so highly. She could not tell what it was exactly that made the strings which usually held her together so well loosen; the loss she had experienced? Or was it simply the presence of the Inspector, his concerned gaze resting upon her, making her heart beat just a little bit faster? _"The man I knew is no bomb maker, do you understand?"_ she managed to say, pleading with Reid. It was a moment of weakness, clearly visible in her crumpled features, but it passed. She held on tightly to the glass he had given her, focusing on her breathing - slowly, calmly, in and out again until her pulse was beating at a normal pace again.

The photograph he showed her almost made it skip a beat again - too many bad memories were attached to the uniforms she so clearly made out on the picture; why exactly he showed her these things, she did not know. She made no effort to hide her irritation, but regretted it instantly when she heard the Inspector utter the words _"... because I believe his brother was murdered"_. There was a pause as the statement registered - the consequences it entailed; he was a good man after all, how could she have doubted his integrity? She was relieved, confused, worried, all at the same time and for a moment her eyes searched his in want of some sort of reassurance. She offered her help, at last, taking up the small metal box of evidence up from the desk and holding it much closer than what was absolutely necessary. Their meeting was over.

In the small space of his office, their bodies almost touched for a moment, as he was reaching for the doork to open it for her. Briefly, she felt her heart flutter again, but she merely took a deep breath and turned towards the exit, without looking back at him - pausing only to hear his words:

_"I am sorry for you, Miss Goren."_


	10. X

**A/N:** Don't ask where this came from, just missing these idiots (especially Lucy's face). Thank you all for your continued fav'ing and reviews, they never cease to make me smile, even if my inspiration is quite sparse at the moment, and I'm trying desperately to get my BA thesis done.

* * *

The summer heat has crept into the thick walls of the orphanage. Unusually high temperatures even seem to have drained the children's limitless energy, and everyone moves in slow motion. Sounds are muffled, ears straining to hear the rustle in the trees promising a long awaited breeze that does not want to come.

She is taken by surprise when he appears in her doorstep (for while the kids are playing outside, skimpily dressed, there is always work for her to do), immaculately dressed, as always; but his appearance is slightly ruffled, the heat leaves traces in the redness of his cheeks, and his movements speak of discomfort. She looks up, and smiles - the sight of him is almost as refreshing as a gust of wind, she thinks, as she pushes back a lock of hair that obstructs her view.

"This heat makes even criminals lazy," he explains sheepishly, no word of apology for his long absence. Too long, says the look in her eyes (making him avert his own; he knows), but she is glad to see him nonetheless.

"Would you like a glass of lemonade?" she asks, gracious as always, as she walks past him (close enough to feel his heat) through the door, not waiting for his reply, and heading for the kitchen (he follows, close behind). She hands him a glass (cool to the touch, and already the thought of it refreshing), their fingers meet (breaths hitch).

It's been too long, and they both know it; yet neither speaks a word as they sip silently, avoiding awkward conversation. But then, his glass is empty. He gets up and meets her (leaning against the counter) and places a tentative, questioning hand on her waist. Apologies and longing pass between them as their eyes meet; the response of her body says enough: forgiven, forgotten - time and distance erased by his touch.


End file.
